“It’s one possibility. VRE’s another.”
“What’s that?” she asks, eyeing me carefully to see if I might make up another series of incomprehensible words.
“Vancomycin-Resistant Enterococcus.”
She frowns.
“Vancomycin is our antibiotic of last resort. It’s used to fight bacteria that are already resistant to penicillin and other antibiotics. VRE is a mutant strain, one that can transmit the resistance genes to other, more dangerous bacteria, like staph and strep. It’s been found on hospital equipment, doorknobs, bedrails, and even on the hands of hospital personnel who wash their hands for less than five full seconds.”
“That’s why you told Cameron not to eat anything at the hospital.”
“That’s right. Did she?”
“The nurse said if she didn’t eat they wouldn’t release her.”
“Typical!” I say, trying to control my anger. “Did you happen to get this nurse’s name?”
“No.”
“Pity.”
“But I’d recognize her if I saw her again.”
“Good.”
“Why’s that good?”
“Maybe someday we’ll see her again.”
“I doubt that. She’s in Dayton.”
“You never know,” I say.
36
“You trust me to be alone in your house?” Willow asks, incredulously.
Reacting to my comment about having to attend a meeting this morning.
“Yes. I trust you.”
“I pulled a gun on you yesterday,” she says.
I shrug. “You didn’t shoot me in my sleep.”
“I couldn’t. You took my bullets.”
“You probably have extras in your bag.”
“I did happen to notice you left the gun on the coffee table.”
“Speaking of guns,” I say, “where did you get one so quickly?”
“I’m from the south.”
“So?”
“Everyone’s got a gun for sale.”
“Seriously?”
She nods.
“Does it work?” I say.
“How should I know? I’ve never shot a gun in my life.”
“I’m surprised you got that thing through the airport.”
“They don’t always x-ray the bags you check.”
“They do here,” I say.
“Lots of things are different here,” she says. “Like your car.”
“I don’t own a car.”
“That’s what I mean. You’ve got all this money, a multi-million dollar house, and your hospital’s a long drive, right?”
“So?”
“You don’t have a car. In Cincy, everyone has a car. Even I have one!”
“I don’t need a car. And parking’s a bitch in the city.”
“Anyway, it’s nice of you to trust me to stay here by myself. Who are you meeting?”
“One of my nurses.”
“For a little…” she smiles.
“I wish.”
“What is she, married?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Want some advice?”
“Seriously?”
She nods.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s hear it.”
“Be persistent.”
“Persistent? That’s it?”
“Relentless,” she says. “Maybe you’ll wear her down.”
I frown. “Wear her down? Can you wear someone down into loving you?”
She shows me a half smile and shakes her head.
“What?” I say.
“How old are you?”
“Forty-two. Why?”
“And you still believe in love?”
37
In the cab on the way to the hospital, I call my secretary, Lola.
“I’ve got a meeting with one of my new nurses at ten,” I say.
“Mr. Luce would like to visit with you at nine-thirty.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux would like you to stop by the ICU and check on Lilly.”
“That’s a no. Anything else?”
“The rest can wait till later.”
“Good. I need you to do something for me.”
“Is it legal?”
“Funny. I need you to find a private investigator in Nashville, Tennessee.”
“No problem. What’s his name?”
“I don’t have one yet. I need you to call around. Get me someone really good.”
“Are you delusional?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a medical secretary. What do I know about finding a private detective?”
“Lola?”
“What?”
“Don’t start with me.”
I hang up. Ten minutes later she calls back.
“I’ve got a name,” she says, “but it’s a woman. Is that okay?”
“Is she any good?”
“How would I know?”
“Who recommended her?”
“The Nashville police department.”
“I thought the police hated private eyes.”
“I thought so too, but Detective Polomo said I’ve been watching too much TV. Then he asked me out on a date.”
“And did you happen to mention you’re married?”
“Not exactly.”
“What did you say, exactly?”
“I asked him to send me a photo.”
My secretary’s a bimbo.
“Who’s the detective?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but…are you sitting down? Dani Ripper!”
“You say that like I’m supposed to know who that is.”
“Dani Ripper? The little girl who got away?”
“Sorry.”
“You’re one of a kind, Gideon.”
“Thanks. You got a phone number for me?”
“You’re planning to call her from your cab?”
“Might as well, I’m stuck in traffic.”
38
Ms. Ripper takes down my name, phone numbers, home and work addresses. She gets my address and three phone numbers. When that’s done she says, “Please. Call me Dani. How can I help you, Dr. Box?”
“I need a quick background check.”
“How quick?”
“Immediately.”
“You’re in luck.”
“Why’s that?”
“All my associates are swamped with cases. But miraculously, I myself happen to be available, having just wrapped up a major case last night. What’s her name?
“Excuse me?
“The woman I’m doing the background check on,” Dani says.
“How do you know it’s a woman?” I say.
“A New York City doctor wants a background check in Nashville, Tennessee? You’ve either slept with one of our local women or you’re thinking about it, and want to know how many miles she’s got under the hood, Am I right?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but as it happens, it’s a woman.”
“Name?”
“Willow Breeland.”
“Age?”
“Eighteen.”
Dani sighs. “Of course she is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you happen to know her date of birth?”
“April sixteenth, eighteen years ago.”
“You can’t do the math?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Does Willow have a middle name?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You’re certain about the date of birth?”
“Yes.”
I am certain. Not only did I read it on her driver’s license last Thursday, she also happens to have the same birthday as my mother.
“Has she broken any laws?”
“Almost certainly.”
“If this is a criminal investigation I need to coordinate with law enforcement.”
“It’s not that.”
“Normally I only accept cases from people I’ve met face to face. Since you want this rushed, you need to tell me why you’re interested in this young lady.”
“She’s my house guest.”
“Your house guest,” she repeats.
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t you just ask about her past?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Feel free. I’m just sitting here, drinking coffee, surfing the internet.”
“I get that. But I’d rather you were making some calls, getting me some answers.”
She doesn’t respond, so I say, “I met her in Nashville last week. I told her I might be able to help her get cancer treatment. She said no, then showed up on my doorstep yesterday.”
“In New York City?”
“Yes. And since she’s in my home as we speak, and I’m riding to work in a cab, I’d like to make sure there are no outstanding warrants on her, or anything like that.”
“You’re sure she’s eighteen?”